Your Halo's Full of Fire, I'm Rising Up
by Gevar
Summary: "And I know it's true that visions are seldom what they seem. But if I know you, I know what you'll do. You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream." - Snow White AU.


**Your Halo's Full of Fire, I'm Rising Up.**

* * *

"And I know it's true that visions are seldom what they seem. But if I know you, I know what you'll do. You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream."

—Lana Del Rey, Once Upon a Dream.

* * *

She's not a maid. But you wouldn't think so, had you seen her. She's on her knees, scrubbing the floor clean. While her fellow noble ladies look on. Shifting uncomfortably underneath Su's gaze.

(Perhaps, it is not her gaze that frightens them. But his. The man who watches her every move. The Fourth General of the Queen Elite Guards. Only his name's known. _So_ , the queen calls him. And that's all they know of him.)

"Her Majesty bans all the noble ladies from sitting idly. You are to join her in her palace," his voice announces, gruff. There's gravitas in his bass tone. One that commands attention.

The ladies, with pity in their eyes, scurry away at his announcement. He stays. The queen's personal knight.

Hae Su breaks her sight from the floor, gazing up at him. Studies his features for a fleeting moment. Notices running across his face, from his forehead down to his eye, is a jagged and faint pink line. The line's narrow, width of a reed plant.

And—

He's an odd one. Of all the queen's personal royal guards, he's the only one who wears his helmet indoors. Still, his snarls are menacing as they come. Enough to cut down a man to his knees, begging.

(Part of her muses, on the possibilities behind his wearing of the helmet. Perhaps, it's merely worn to distract wandering and curious eyes from his scar. If that's the case, it's a brilliant move. Her eyes are drawn to the intricately design helmet.)

He narrows his piercing onyx-coloured eyes, pink lips pressed into a thin line. He sneers, "What are you looking at?"

It's not wise to anger the queen's knight. Less, she'll be at the receiving end of endless menial tasks. She swallows an insult in, shakes her head instead. "Nothing," replies Su, through gritted teeth and scrapes dark stains on the wooden floorboard.

One doesn't defy the queen's decree. No matter how utter ridiculous her demands are. The queen's loyal watchdog stands behind her, watching her every move. Making sure that all surfaces she scrubbed are pristinely clean.

Hae Su scrubs the floor. Until her knees are red, her back's sore and her hands are numb. She stands to her feet. Stretches her back that it cracks a noise, provides her a temporary relief.

"There," she informs him, "the floors are clean that the floors shine and reflect your face if you stare at it hard," sarcasm hanging to each word.

If he's aware of her intended sarcasm, he doesn't show it. He gives the floor a cursory glance and set his intense stare at her.

"Your service is still required," he says, "Her Majesty wants you to gather flowers for her bath tomorrow."

"Tonight?" Su's voice increases an octave higher. Her jaw, wide open. Like a fool, she splutters, "It's dark. Night. It's dangerous to roam outside at these hours."

Instead, he produces a scroll from his robe. "The flowers Her Majesty requested only blooms at night," he answers, "I will escort you to the forest."

"B-but it's—"

He cuts into her words with ease, "I will have the horses ready. I do not wish to make a scene and report your lack of cooperation to Her Majesty."

Her shoulders slump in defeat. Gathering flowers is still preferable than hours of scrapping the floor with a damp cloth.

"As you wish," she sighs.

Receiving the scroll, Hae Su goes over the list. The calligraphy is crisp, clean and elegant. Not the scrawl of the Royal Physician's or any court lady under the queen's patronage.

Whoever owns the calligraphy, she wishes of two things; to commission a poem for her cousin and for the calligrapher to break his hand.

* * *

They venture into the dense forest. On a black horse. His horse. He's pressed against her back, his warm breath on the nape of her neck. Electrical buzzes tingle her skin. She scoots away—as much as she could anyway—from him. Tightens her knuckles on her basket.

The night's breeze chills her bones. Sharp and spiny icicles that stings underneath her skin. Shivering. Hae Su pulls her cloak closer. He jerks the reins, the horse stops.

"We're here," he announces, his voice smooth like silk. He dismounts his horse first. Holds one hand to her, helps her down.

"Thank you," Su says in a clipped tone. Casting her glance left and right. This part of the forest is one her foot hasn't had the pleasure of exploring. The trees are far apart, lush with leaves. Enough foliage that it blocks her view of the skies.

"I guess, I should be on my way," she sighs, eyes going over the list once again.

"Spare me a moment of your time," he says, quiet. Doesn't elaborate any further. Without turning to her, So bends over his boot, and plucks out a dagger.

He strikes the blunt edge of his dagger against flint. Sparks leap from the clashing of dagger and flint, onto the torch he brought along. Soon, the embers grow into orange flames. He passes the torch to her, "Take this," he instructs.

Su receives the torch without much fuss. She's going to need some fire to light her path.

"I'll bring the horse to graze the grass, not far from here." He points at a patch of grass not far from where they stand. They exchange silence and stares.

A weary groan escapes from her lips, she nods. "All right, My Lord."

She moves away from him and his horse. Raising the torch above her head, she scrutinises the flowers around them.

"Wait."

Su turns to glance at him. "Hmm?"

He strides to her spot, reluctance on each heavy step. "Here, take this as well," So thrusts the dagger—a hunting knife—into her basket. "Use it when you're in danger."

She shifts her sight from the dagger to him. Unable to decide if she's touched, or offended by his action. Does he think she's helpless like a child? She's ten and seven. She fills out into her body perfectly. Though petite as she is, she's voluptuous as the noble ladies in the inner court. Lady Oh herself validated Su's belief.

"If you are unable to use a simple dagger to save yourself," he pauses, "scream."

"Careful, My Lord. In the woods such as this, screaming will only attract more danger," she counters.

His lips curling into a sly smirk. "Tis true. But I do not think you are well-versed in the arts of self-defence, My Lady. And your throat is your best weapon, use it."

If tiredness hasn't already settle on her entire body, Su's quick to put him to his place. Queen's Elite Guard or not, the man simply has no manners or consideration of his words. She just waves a hand dismissively at him, close to his face. "If that is all you have to say, My Lord, then I will rather get on with my task at hand."

She pivots on her heels and walk away. Not letting him get the last word between them.

* * *

The hours gone by, seems endless to her. Su knows this, as the stars above the skies now scattered differently than before. The nippy draft has died down. All that's left of the breeze is the air stagnant, between pleasant warm and blustery zephyr. Like having happiness blanketing her entire body.

She sneaks a quick glimpse at her basket. Lips twisting into a satisfied smile on its own accord.

Her basket's brimming with flowers. Colours of pale white of a magnolia, peony with its pinkish petals, and blue lobelia among others. And now, lilium that shines yellow, like the sun on a cloudy day, she places within the basket, delicate.

She mentally crosses another flower off from the list. She recounts the flowers within her basket. Five of each flower would be enough. She's left with one last flower; Amaranth.

That's a new flower. She combs through her vast memory of flowers, herbs and spices. Recalls none written description of such flower. How is Su supposed to gather a flower she'd never lay her eyes on? Let alone knows how it looks like, without any clues.

She waves the torch over her path. In vain, looking for that elusive flower. "Amaranth? Which one of you my pretties, is the flower I need for a well-night sleep?" Su asks, into the darkness.

"You can't find that flower in a place like this," chimes a voice, melodic and bashful.

Hae Su turns fast to face the voice. Her heart racing at the thought of getting the flower at last. Her lips twitching into a wide grin. Oh, it won't be long until she's back in the comfort of her bed.

He stands at the edges of the forest, silhouette-almost. The thick foliage shields him from the moon. The trees behind him, are inseparable from one another. All together blend to a background of pitch black.

Her eyes chance upon the sweetest smile she'd seen on a boy. She rubs her eyes twice. She's not dreaming. That boy is not a figment of her imagination. But— _but the forest has a way of tricking you_ , Lady Oh reminds her once upon a dream.

Su ignores him. Goes about her way. She pats her waist once, just to remind her of So's dagger still safely tucked underneath her robe.

The grass and leaves rustled under footsteps. Those footsteps are not hers. They're inching closer. The distance between that mirage-boy and her isn't a large stretch. _Everything is just in your mind, Su_. They're not real.

But—what if he's real?

"What are you doing here?" the boy questions, sets his gaze on the ground. He keeps his distance, though. Enough for his melodic voice to float to her.

And she decides to reply, on instinct. She hoists the basket high up for him to see. "Errands from the queen."

He gazes at her. One brow arching. "You're from the palace?"

"Yes," she pauses, remembers that his first line. "You seemed to be knowledgeable on Amaranth."

The boy nods. And smiles, his eyes disappear into thin lines. "Anyone who lived in this part of the country, knows Amaranth," he replies.

And she can't quite reason why. Her feet brings her closer to him. Torch's flame shines enough light that she could see him clearly. Maybe it's the curiosity of seeing a boy in the middle nowhere. Beckons her to him.

He wears robes of blue that reminds her of azure stones. Golden pheasants embedded on the robe, on his shoulders and on the skirt. His hair, coal-black, long and straight falls on his shoulder, like water streaming down a cliff's edge.

His hands clasped behind his back.

"I just need five of those and I'll be off," she explains, begging.

He scratches his beardless chin. "Follow me," is all he says. He turns around, his robes sweeping the ground after him.

Hae Su walks into the darker forest. It's black all around, saved for the torch in her hand—each step she makes, darkness threatens to gobble the flames up. Then, the fire died. Immediately glittering in the dark, are fireflies forming a route for them to follow.

She asks, "Is it far?"

She doesn't say about the knight who waits for her scream. There's a strange comfort in knowing there's _one_ person who will _find_ her, regardless of his feelings (there must be annoyance somewhere in his heart) to her.

"It is not far, I promised. Just bear with me."

There's silence. There's the sound of their footsteps. And her throat's itching to talk. To dispel the silence away. To calm her nerves.

"So, Amaranth. I have never heard of that flower. Is it rare?"

He chuckles. "It's a flower that never fades," he explains, and adds, "an elusive flower it is."

Scepticism rings evident in her query, "Never fades?"

"Yes, the colour remain forever. For it is a flower frozen in time, once it blooms."

She frowns, "How do you know when the flower blooms?"

"When it changes colour for the first time," he simply says.

"That's some flower," she mutters, "I can see why Her Majesty wants it for her bath."

His steps halting so sudden, as he turns to face her. She nearly bumps into his chest. He says, "There's a tale about the Amaranth's beauty. Do you know about it?"

His eyes peer curiously at her. At this closeness, she notices his skin—unblemished and fair. Cheekbones, high and sharp. She averts her eyes away, as she shakes her head sideways. "What about it?"

He purses his lips, lost in thought. Then he motions a hand in the air, dismissive. "The story is long and tedious. I am afraid that I will bore you."

"No," she insists, "tell me. I want to know."

"If you request it, then I shall grant your wish." He clears his throat, "Once there was a king. He came to the story of a flower renowned for its ethereal beauty, and so his brothers enlisted to help him hunt for the flower."

They start to walk again, and his voice remains steady, "Years of hunting eventually lead to king and his brothers to a land. The flower they found, is white however. The brothers waged a little gamble. Of which brother could force the flower to change its hue."

He leads her to a clearing. There's a singular tree, surrounded by small rocks in a circle. The leaves are green, brown and orange—all at once. The tree huge at the height of two elephants stacked above each other. Thick branches that sprouts thinner twigs and twisting outwards. She gazes up, into the tree with each trunk housing bird nest of various sizes and shapes.

"Many attempts were committed, yet not one was successful. That is, until the king smeared blood on its white petals. Forever changing its colour," his voice trails off.

He outstretches a hand at the lowest tree trunk. His fingertips lightly grazing a flower she'd never seen. In fact, she realises now—the tree houses abundant of flowers. Varieties that usually occur in multiple plants. Not in a singular tree. Such as this.

"What happened to the flower?" Su questions, "I mean, after the flower changed colour. What did they do with it?"

He shrugs. "Much of the story, especially the ending, is lost."

She directs her gaze from his face to his hand.

The flower attracting his attention bears no difference from a white lily. He traces swirls on the flower and plucks it. From its inner petal, white transforms to glimmering black granite. There are white flecks that sparkles like diamond, on the black petals.

There's this feeling she couldn't describe. And all she could lightly put into words—is that it's almost incomprehensible to understand how beautiful the flower is in its newer form.

He places the flower in to her basket. He goes to remove a few more flowers. "Here," he says, "take seven."

The ends of her lips quirking upwards. "Thanks—" Su squints at him, unsure if she'd forgotten his name. Or he merely never utter his name.

"Call me Wook," he supplies, his lips curling into a coy smile.

"Thank you, Wook," Su singsongs, "Hae Su," she offers.

" _Hae Su_ ," he rolls her name with an accent she can't seem to place.

Her eyes catch the sight of his feet. Shoes, he doesn't wear. His feet bare on the grass. But they're far from one would expect from a man who walked miles on rough terrain as theirs. Untarnished. No cuts, bruises, dirt or soil, clinging to his feet.

"Where are your shoes?" tumbles loosely from her lips, before she has a chance to rein her blunt observation.

He looks down at his feet. Wiggles his toes. Chuckling, he admits, "Shoes are so restrictive. And I rather feel the grass beneath my feet more than anything."

He's a quirky one. And she enjoys his presence more than the ladies in the palace. "Thank you for the flowers, Wook."

He holds a finger up. Goes back to the tree. Plucks one more flower. He returns to her, and he grins.

"One last Amaranth," he whispers, "for the fairest of them all," sets the final Amaranth into her hair, just above her ear. "Just for you, My Lady."

"How do I get back?"

"Just walk the same way you did before. The fireflies will guide you. They'll guide as far as they need to. Walk ahead, don't stop until you hear the river's streams."

She bows to him. He does the same.

"Visit us again," Wook calls out, as she strolls to the flight of the fireflies. Su half-turns, enough to see him with his hands intertwined behind his back. "How will I find you?"

"Think of the Amaranth, and we'll come for you."

* * *

She waves her goodbye at Wook, treads the path lit by the fireflies.

Eventually, the fireflies cease to follow her. Leaving Hae Su and her flowers all alone. The chill returns. She sneezes at the sudden brush of breeze against her exposed skin. She tightens her grip over the dagger.

Her torch left forgotten with Wook. To walk without the fireflies, is to court danger senselessly. Hae Su knows better.

It's then her ears detect the rushing stream. Exactly in the words of Wook, she's close to where she started. Murmurs float through the silent night. Sounds nothing like Wook's melodic tone. She strains her ears to listen harder.

"Are you happy, girl?" the bass voice queries, missing that hard edge she's used to hearing. _Tender_ , she dares say.

A horse's neigh echoes moments later.

Su couldn't resist keeping her mouth shut, and teases, "Did you wait for me long?" The end of her lips lifting upwards, impish.

So spins around so fast, his eyes widens and the colour from his face drains. Embarrassment. If only so brief. He schools his feature into indifference. Impassive. He coughs out his words, "Are you done?"

She grins, harder. And wider. That she could split her own face open. Who knew, So—deadliest man alive, the head of the Queen's Elite Guards—could be amusingly adorable?

Hae Su nods. "Yes, I am. Let's go."

* * *

As a child, she heard the stories about the queen. That the king fell in love with her—love at first sight—for the queen was the fairest of them all.

It is not a romance. The story of the king and queen is not the tale little girls wishing for it to befall to them. The king's madly in love with the queen. For her beauty. And her beauty alone. He's blind to all the cruelty she committed.

And nothing's scarier than a cruel queen without a heart. Hae Su's at her mercy.

She heeds the advice of the women under the queen's thumb. Never go against the queen. Less you'd be chained to the dungeon's chair. Or its filthy walls.

Hae Su submits herself to all the queen's demands. The price of an aching back is a small price to pay. For the other girls before her never fare better. There are cautionary tales. Too horrific to recount.

She could use more time, to regain the sleep she's deprived of. But the luxury isn't hers. She rises before the crack of sunlight at dawn. Sprinkles the flowers she gathered on the pool's surface. For the Amaranth, she gently places them at each sides of the pool.

She dips her fingers into the water. Not too hot to burn skin red. Not too cold that one's body will shiver at the touch of the water.

The queen's arrival sparks Su into moving away from the pool to standing by the door. She bows her head low. The door slides open, revealing the queen. Her Majesty, draped in white. Her usually pinned up hair, loose on her shoulders. Sashaying as she enters. Beckons Su to come closer.

Close she goes, keeping her eyes on her feet. Don't stare, Su. Don't stare unless Her Majesty says it so. Part of her, clamours for praises the queen may never part. And just maybe, a reprieve from her lowly daily tasks. A girl can hope for such small reward.

She removes the queen's garb piece by piece, down to the last article of clothing. And Su understands why the king's love never fade.

With a body like that, sculptured to perfection. Every curve, delicate but firm. A body that could drive any man wild. At the mere sight of it. Like animals in heat.

The queen submerges herself into the water. The water parts as she rises for air. She washes her body first. Scrubbing vigorously over her skin. Until her skin inflamed red.

At the corner of her eyes, Su sees white streaks on hair jet black. Many contradicting tales behind that white streak. Each paints the queen to beget streaks of white long before her marriage to the king. Each renders that white streak as reason for the king's unflinching love.

A single Amaranth drifts to the queen, as she bathes. And the queen screams. Bloodcurdling. High-pitched hysterical shrieks. She scrambles out from the pool. Water dripping on to the floor. Her eyes dart across the room. There's only Su. She runs fast.

"You!" the queen with white in her hair yells into her face, her hands latching on to Su's arms, "Where did you get the flowers?"

She stammers, pain from the queen's crushing grip on her arms, digging into the skin. "I-in the forest, Your Majesty—"

"Liar!" She screeches into Su's face, "Where? Did you meet them?"

"I-I swear my answer is the truth," Su answers, her heart beating faster that she feels as she had raced a horse around the world.

The queen's cruelty is known. Same goes for her composed elegance in the face of adversity. Except it might have been tales. Or not. Su never hear even a blip of gossip that substantiates such fact. Now, she isn't too sure.

Fear. There's fear in those dead eyes. And desperation. Her hands are shaking. Her voice quakes, "No. Not you. Not you too." The queen latches her hands on Su's face. Her fingernails scrapping against Su's skin. Perhaps, she wishes to do more. The queen's attempting to claw—gauge—her eyes out.

"Your Majesty," So's voice booms, fills the room immediately. He's swift. That his muscular arms restrain the queen, long enough for Su to escape from her clutches. The queen turns to So, manic in her voice, and whispers, "She—she's the chosen. _Kill_ her," she eyes at the hilt of So's sword, "I said _kill_ her now," she shrieks.

The queen and her general fight for the blade that rests on So's hips. Su takes her chance to flee from the room, and not before she's out from the earshot, she hears it.

"Kill the fairest. Kill her before it's all too late," the queen whispers, harsh. Broken.

* * *

So's words are fresh on her mind.

"Her Majesty's resting now. It's best that you leave the palace for the time being."

He interrupts her, "There is a horse I have prepared for you. You must leave today." And then, he shoves her to be on her merry way. As if she didn't induce hysteria hours ago. Rumours will spread, no doubt that Su is certain of.

The palace's scandalmonger mill spreads faster than a disease. The king—the king will not bat an eyelid for the queen's order to have Su dead before nightfall.

And so she packs her meagre possessions, ties them up with a piece of cloth and dumps it inside a straw basket she stole from the palace. Surely no one will miss a straw basket than a girl the queen wishes to be dead.

Quietly she sneaks out from the palace. And rides into the forest. Into the place where fireflies shine your pathway when the moon isn't there, blocked by clouds and trees. It doesn't take her long for her and the horse to arrive.

She forces the horse to take another step forward. The horse refuses. Hae Su dismounts from the horse, sliding down and nearly fall flat on her face. The hose neighs. And to her untrained ears, it might be a sneer. Or something.

She reckons, she'd been walking in circles. The trees—they aren't distinct enough for Su. And she thinks, she passed that tree seven times. Or eight. She lost count. Her stomach grumbles its protest for replenish of substance. Su rummages through her bag. Upturns it for nothing to fall out. She'd eaten the last apple hours ago.

Her legs. Buddha, her legs are about to fall apart anytime now. Cramps coiling around her legs. The sun's still high in the sky. There's enough light for her to continue her journey. A nap won't hurt.

She looks around for some shade. A tree with abundant leaves, not far from her spot. Despite the foliage, the tree reminds Su of a man with his hands holding up towards the sky. Vines and roots of creeper plants bind themselves to the man, squeezing his breath as they grew thicker. And he's frozen in agony.

Not exactly a tree that evokes a calming effect. Su holds So's knife closer to her chest. And closes her eyes.

* * *

Whistling. There's whistling. And a melody. She's neither dreaming nor dead. Hae Su is not alone.

She opens her eyes. Casts a sweeping glace around her. Sees no one around. But the music persists. There's someone nearby. She gathers herself and sticks the knife back into her sleeve. If anything fails, she still has her hairpin. Or would screaming work? Considering he's not around.

She tracks the origin of the music. To a small stream. A man sitting on top of a flat rock, overlooking the stream. His back facing her. His hair are finely braided into a bun, held together by periwinkle ribbon.

His music speaks to a part of her soul that she isn't aware of. One that entices her to release her hold on everything. _Just dance_ , the music whispers through its invisible tendrils. Endlessly dancing, without a single worry sitting on your shoulders, the music sings its melody. Forget of all the emotions that ails your mind.

Sweet. Enticing. Mindlessly fun.

She dances, without a care in the world. Dances, like it's the only thing that she holds dear to her. The music flows through her veins, and dances like the courtesan she is not.

The descant died. And Hae Su stops. Her senses return to her; she's in the middle of the forest, dancing to a stranger's tune.

She reaches for the dagger. Decides to not brandish it at the last second. Instead, she set her gaze to the stranger—the man. He gets to his feet, and he's without shoes or slippers. Like Wook.

From where she stands, she observes his robes. Not azure blue. But lavender's hue. Golden trees sit on his shoulders and with no doubt, on his skirt too. He leaps from the rock. Lands perfectly on the ground.

He's young. If not younger than Su herself. Soft eyes, soft lips but strong nose. And there's this air that simply radiates happiness, around him.

He taps his wooden flute against his head. The corners of his mouth lift upwards. Cheekily. As though he acknowledges her presence. But that's only it. He turns away. He walks.

"I'm looking for Wook," she tries. She's out of options. Not to mention hungry. The boy continues to walk away—

"Amaranth," Su says, and it works. He stops, spins on his heels with grace, and heads for her.

He raises his brows together, "You're looking for Wook?"

She nods. Holds her breath for his next answer.

He cocks his head to aside, the jovial smile still etched on his face. "That's me."

She narrows her eyes at him. Just how many Wooks are there living in this forest, Su doesn't think she wants to know, but she has no place to go. So made it clear that she's not to step a foot in the palace for now.

"The Wook I knew was shorter," she replies, blunt. "Wears blue," she clarifies.

"Oh, that brother."

"You are—" she trails off.

"Wook too. But my brothers call me Baek-ah," he answers, and like his brother of the same name, his accent lyrical, smooth and inflections at random syllables. Familiar words that sounds a little foreign to her ears.

His long legs open his pace, and he tosses a quick look over his shoulder, smiling. "Let's go."

* * *

Su blinks one. Twice. Another four more times. Rubs her eyes for a good measure. Shuts her mouth close.

The ancient tree in front of her is humongous. Tallest tree she'd seen. That its peak is not within her sight—doesn't matter how hard she squints, she sees only lined wood. Widest too, as wide as six elephants lined up—head to toe—touching each other.

Standing next to it, she feels infinitely small and humbled. Like an ant crawling on a tiger's paw.

From outside, the tree resembles a pagoda with its many levels. She counts nine levels, judging from the gigantic windows circling each floor.

There's a door, with the height of seventeen hands. Its spans the length of a horse from tip of its ears to its tail. As she enters the dark room, the torches come to life. Floods the room with much needed light.

The room's bare, with no furniture. Saved for a path that leads to another door at the far right corner. They pass the door and she notices there's no path but stairs.

Curving stairs carved onto the tree's sides, spiralling from the bottom to up. Each step, eight dragons playing with an orb, engraved on it. Each step, their positions shifted and yet they remained playful, all chasing after the orb.

"What are you waiting for?" Baek-ah asks, his tone cheery.

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

And they climb the stairs to nowhere. Higher up she goes, she's gasping for air. Then the constriction of her chest disappears, she breathes the same as she's on ground. She stops for a view for every fifty steps her feet makes.

The ground's swallowed up by the canopy tress of various shades of green and orange leaves. The skies, a canvass of navy clouds, tainted by crimson smudges. Only canopies stretches as far as her eyes could see. Almost as if there's no end to the forest.

The forest where the sun isn't allow to grace its ray on the ground. Who knows what creatures lurk beneath the canopy—and no knife or scream can help Su.

It takes a several seconds to register a fact; an abode was built into the tree.

"We're almost there," Baek-ah voices, cutting her musing short.

Several steps to the top, Hae Su arrives at the tree's peak. A balcony stretching wide to greet her. And Wook, with his bashful smiles. He gives a nervous wave. He's in the same blue robe she'd seen him previously.

Before she could even utter a word, her stomach greets Wook by rumbling. Hae Su's cheeks redden with embarrassment.

"Apologies," she says, fanning herself. "Circumstances preventing me from satisfying my hunger."

Wook's eyes are set on the floor, even as he speaks, "Then you must replenish your hunger, My Lady."

They cross the balcony alone. Into his home. Baek-ah, she sees not a hint of that lavender robe of his anywhere. But Wook second of his name is all forgotten as her eyes take in the marvel of wooden fixture in their home.

* * *

The kitchen is not impressive. A lone cabinet stands in the centre of a rather empty kitchen. Ahead of the cabinet, a singular stove. She searches the cabinet for a pot. Only to find the pot collecting cobwebs in the lower shelf of the cabinet.

Ingredients. The ingredients she found couldn't feed a person. Much less two boys that shared a name. But Su doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Wook accepts her presence in his home, not a single question asked. So does Baek-ah. Who in their right minds would harbour a fugitive of Goryeo so willingly—no doubt, she'd be the first to flee when they find out. But she'll burn that bridge when she comes to that time.

She gathers whatever she could find, tosses the items into a pot. Pouring water into the pot, she strikes a flint with the edges of her hunting knife. Soon, the water bubbles up. She's having soup tonight.

Once her soup's all done, she fills a bowl with its content up to the brim. She fills several more bowls with the soup. Settles all of the bowls on a tray and gathers the spoons, three. Brings the tray to Wook and perhaps, Baek-ah.

"Do you want some soup?" Su asks into the antechamber, lips curling into a smile.

What awaits her in the hall—seven pairs of eyes. Unblinking. Their eyes move along her movement. All seven dressed in identical robes, saved for the colours. Out of seven, only two are faces she recognises. The two Wooks. The moment to break the eye contact has passes, the silence takes over.

And she's frozen to her spot. Holding a tray. With soups for only three people.

"Accept my apology," one of them breaks the stillness, "for our rudeness," says he, in the same peculiar accent. This man, with his beady eyes and full beard, smiles. He wears his hair in a topknot. The topknot fastened and secured with a golden crown. A shield resting on his lap, he polishes it with a rag.

"Brother, there is no such need to apologise," bristles the other, whose snake-like eyes are lined with kohl. Like the man he calls brother, he too supports the topknot in a silver crown. Whereas his brother's beard is full and thick, this man wears his beard that resembles a goat's. A bow lying next to his chair.

"Yes, that is my mistake," interjects Wook, "for not introducing us to our guest."

Wook stands to his feet, shifts his sight from Su to the men. "Brothers, please welcome our guest, Hae Su." The end of his lips quirking upwards. He motions her to join the barefooted brothers at their table.

"Hae Su?" asks a boy, in a robe of cobalt-blue. He wears a headband that matches his robe's colour. His brow knit together. He sits in between Baek-ah and another boy in turquoise robe. They both wear their hair in ponytails.

Their eyes widen, with interest. They are fair—of beauty that noble ladies would pay a limb to acquire. Their features are elegance, splendour of hardened finesse and unparalleled exquisite melded in a pot, stirred to ultimate perfection. And if the king to chance his eyes upon any of them, he would surely abandoned his wife, his queen without a second thought.

She nods. Takes a seat next to Wook. "I am acquainted with Wook and Baek-ah, however—" she doesn't finish her words.

"Eldest among us is Brother Mu," Wook explains, glancing at the man with the full beard. Green is his colour, Su makes a mental note on that.

"Brother Yo is next," Wook continues. At the mention of his name, a frown sits on Yo's lips. Yo wears orange regally, Su observes—it's be fitting of a man oozing haughtiness.

"Won," says the boy next to Wook. His bangs fall messily over his headband, and he dons robe of mauve's hue. He tries to stifle a yawn, but fails miserably. He flips several coins in his hands, juggling them.

The boy, with the lapis-coloured headband, pipes up, "Jung is what I am born as," points to the boy next to Baek-ah, "that's Eun, talking is not his strongest suit." Jung balances a dagger on his upturned palm. Then sneezes. The dagger falls off from his hand, but he manages to catch it. Without slicing his hand open.

Eun cackles at his brother. His laughs are not loud, but they echo within the hall, like thunder rumbling on a clear day.

As if suddenly remembering the extra soup, Su takes out the bowls from the tray.

"I made some soup," she informs, the end of her mouth upturns upwards, "with the ingredients I found in your cabinet. But there's no meat."

All seven brothers spare a cursory glance at her soup. Yo's lips pressed into a thin line. Won wrinkles his nose. Jung and Eun exchange attentive stares. Mu's indifferent to her offer. Baek-ah mirrors the smile on Su's face, but his head shakes sideways.

"We've eaten earlier on," Wook admits, "but for tomorrow, we could get you some meat."

"Me, give it to," Eun interrupts, takes Su by surprise. Puberty has not taken its due with his voice, and there is a roguish quality to it. And his syntax—jumbled and unusual. His hand shoots up, "Seon-deok, hunger is growing."

"Then I shall leave some soup for her," Su quips, honour to have at least one person tasting her soup.

Holding off her hunger long enough, she digs into her soup. Its taste's passable. Considering much of the ingredients she used, she didn't recognises any. Her considerable knowledge of flowers, herbs and plants failed her.

The soup warms her insides, fills her like no food has ever done. The taste is neither special nor bland. And yet she can't stop until she guzzles down very drop. She returns to the kitchen to refill her bowl—the brothers' voices float into the kitchen.

"The requirement is fairly simple and yet he always disappoint," Yo says, scorn shining in his voice.

"Do not be harsh on him," Wook argues, his voice tires with a glimmer of reticent, "He _is_ the hunter. It is well within his rights."

Jung asks, and Su finds herself picturing this youth with his lips pouting, "Help me to understand the terms, brother. Is it not he conforms to all four? Eyes of anthracite's hue."

"Skin fair—no, paler than the frosty snow on a winter's morn," Baek-ah recites, never losing the melodic undertones.

Won adds, "Lips so red, redder than the blood coursing in the veins of mortal."

Eun chimes, "Hair of raven's feathers."

"Jung is not wrong. All four conditions has been fulfilled. Our sentiments matter little. If the hunter believes he found the chosen one. It has begun. And we are powerless to stop what has started," Mu says, with a finality that no brother challenges.

"We will have to ride the wave," Wook replies, with a trace of sparkling anticipation.

"Indeed we will," Won retorts, his voice slippery like a weasel, "and I for one, foresee enjoyment at the horizon."

"That is a consolation," Yo concedes, each word comes out like a hiss of a snake. Not one born out anger or annoyance, but rather bridled eagerness. And perhaps, Su could imagine the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

"I detest the fact we are not allow to touch," Yo scoffs. "I preferred father's rules."

"We are bound to his rules. Not father's," Mu reminds, lethargic.

"But mind games are far more entertaining than physical actions," Wook counters, mischievous dripping in his quiet voice. "Sharpens our dull minds," he adds, "opens our minds to new ventures of creativity."

A collective of murmurs bounces around the chamber. When Su rejoins the brothers, they fall into an uneasy silence. But Baek-ah, generous with his smiles, works his delicate fingers on his flute. Eun shuffles to his feet, dances in a frenzy. Won claps his hands in glee, and yawns into his palm. Jung sneezes for every moment the music hitches in pitch and tempo. Wook moves—for the lack of a word, stiff. He squeezes his eyes shut and his face, a bright shade of red. Yo folds his arms above his chest, setting his jaw. His lips twitching slightly. At the sight of his brothers. Mu laughs along.

Eventually, the music all fades into a quiet background. They excuse themselves. Except for Wook. He leads her down winding hallways into a room next to an alcove. They stand in front of a door. Carves onto the door is the face of a dragon with whiskers.

"This shall be your room, for as long as you wish to stay, My Lady." Wook bows, a curt bow and turns away, walking into the unlit hallway.

"Good night, Wook," Su calls out, smiling.

He glances over his shoulder, his lips twisting into a shallow smile, "Rest well, Su."

* * *

Her room is luxurious. One that out-matches the queen's chambers. To put it mildly. The ceilings painted in blue—not the colour of skies, but the deep aquatic shade that sparkles underneath the moonlight. Leaves—luminous green—adorn every corner of the walls.

And if she closes her eyes, the feeling on being in nature seeps into her. There's this heaviness on her body. Cocooning her. As if today's events. With the Queen. With the General. With the brothers. All comes rushing, assaulting her together. Her body is weary. Yawn after yawn keeps escaping from her mouth.

After a light wash up, Hae Su retires for the night. Her body touches the supple mattress and her head rests on the pillows, she drifts to sleep. In an instant.

* * *

The Amaranth lies in her hands. Still white, pale as snow. She remembers it turning to black. As Wook shown her before. She grazes her fingertips, mimicking Wook's gesture. And plucks another one.

Ink black, dotted with effervescent of white flecks—the flower is disappointingly white. She lets the flower falls on ground.

The hairs on her neck stand. Icicles lining up her spine. That haunting feeling of someone's watching her. Hae Su turns, slow. The coast is black. She sees none—but the faint outlines of a four-legged creature. She nearly misses it. The creature. Had not it moves to her, she would not see. Its fur blending seemingly into their surroundings.

Its pearly white incisors that gleans when the moon shines on it. The moon that wasn't here before.

She stands still. The creature trots to her. Then it stops. A bear. Scars slashed and burnt all over its shabby fur.

Hae Su recalls the stories told by Lady Oh. Of bears that attack at a fly escaping. Of bears that mauls. Never run from a bear, says Lady Oh, over a night where the candle burnt flames for her mandatory reading.

And—there's something off about this bear. Of its eyes, glowing blue is its left, and the other is the colour of crimson red. The way it cocks its head. Studying her. As she's studying it. The bear circles her, never once taking off its mismatched eyes from Su.

The bear will tire in the end, Su comforts herself. She has two years' worth of standing before the Queen. Not moving until she's call to attend Her Majesty. Standing stupidly at one corner like a tree stump.

The bear—it's a she—lunges for Su. Tired of Su's inaction. Its claw swipes at her face. Su falls backwards. Piling its weight at her, it traps her against the ground. Its drool dribbling on her chest. Its claw scratches a thin line over Su's exposed chest.

Su screams a soundless cry. All she could hear is the bear's guttural growls—of delectation. That reminds her of rolling thunder on clear sky.

The she-bear bares its teeth, in a manner a human would if she were to smirk. Its human-like expression sends fear recoiling within Su. She thrashes against the bear. She cannot escape. It strips her of her hanbok layers. Flips Su on her stomach.

Its long and wet tongue trailing down Su's spine. This is not real. It's only a _dream_.

* * *

Hae Su wakes up when the sun's at the centre of the sky. It's the first. And satisfaction puts a smile on her face. All those restless nights in the palace, she sleeps one night in this abode of the seven brothers, be ridden from her tired bones.

She takes her time to explore every inch of her room. What she mistook for leaves last night, are in fact carvings to imitate actual leaves. Each etching is a leaf of another tree. And she sees, leaves of shapes and patterns that doesn't exist in any region of Goryeo. Or Silla. Or even Hubaekje.

Traces her hands over the intricate designs carved on the walls. The smooth wood beneath her fingers, never splinters. She runs a fingernail against the wood, the paint remains intact without any scrapings. And she wonders, if any of the seven brothers are travellers—for all the elements in her room point to many civilisations that she heard of only in books and the mouths of others.

With her room thoroughly inspected, Su leaves to discover the secrets hidden in their abode. Her forehead slams against a guard's breastplate. She recoils in the brief pang of pain. Rubbing her forehead.

"Do your head has no eyes to see ahead?" Su snaps, before realising whose breastplate she knocked into. Oh, Buddha. _So_.

"Take those clothes off now," he demands, without batting his long, pretty eyelashes.

"My clothes?" Su splutters, tongue tied at his sudden request. "My Lord, we are guests!" Her voice hitches an octave higher, and jabs a finger at his breastplate hard, "you will not ravish me without my consent!"

The breastplate's sturdier than it looks. Tapping at solid bronze, she jerks her finger back and hides her hands behind her back. Buddha, her finger hurts.

So merely raises a brow, cocky. "I am afraid your insinuation will not be fulfilled, My Lady. For you are not fair as you think you are," he sneers. "Her Majesty demands proof of your death," he adds, bluntly.

She's about to spout more words to put him down—wait, what? Her death. Ah, that explains his intent. Nothing to do with him ravishing her. Well, that is—that is her successfully making a complete fool of herself. The tips of her ears heat up with red.

"If you wish to prance naked around here, and that is your decision to take," his lips bears a smirk. So shoves new clothes into her hands.

She narrows her eyes at him, wrinkles her nose in annoyance. She switches into the clothes he brought. It feels light, and fits her form perfectly. Then returns to him. Jolting her own clothes to him, she gazes up at him.

That smug leer still fixed on his lips. And—and he's missing his atrocious helmet.

His face, perfectly symmetrical with bone structure that could rival the queen's. Thick eyebrows enhance his manliness. His cheekbones, distinct and pleasing to her eyes. Oh, _his jaw_ —chiselled and sharp. Must be his lucky stars—he's a man, not a woman. It's an open secret of fates that befall on women of the fairest beauty.

She squints. Notices a thin line stands out against his fair skin. Su eyes the scar over his face. For a moment, that scar sparks something long dormant in her memories. As if once upon a dream, she'd seen that same scar on a boy with fangs for teeth and disappears back to his hometown before the full moon.

So lifts both brows at her, "Keep your female wiles to yourself, My Lady. You are after all a guest. It does you no good to throw yourself cheaply at anyone."

She's not sure, if that serves as a tease. Or a warning. Either way, it annoys her all the same.

And he leaves.

Su's mouth hangs wide open. Unflattering. One of these days, she'll—do something to him that won't make him laugh at her anymore.

* * *

She sees the seven brothers in the hall, seated around a square table. The table sits at the centre of the room. On top of the table, lays a board. With seven pieces on one side. Pacing towards the table, she observes the board is rather a map of the forest. It's crudely drawn, but the details are amazingly comprehensive.

Their attention set intently on the board. Neither of the seven brothers notice her entrance. She chooses not to make a sound. And observes.

A piece shaped like a soldier stands in the middle of the map. The seven pieces are odd pieces. An arrowhead. A bear on its hind legs. A shield. A coin. A flute. A quill. And a sword.

They trade words in language Hae Su has never heard before. Each word spoken, rolls from their tongue like a musical note, rises and falls like ocean waves dancing against the shore. And it's almost like they're singing. Not talking.

Even as their voices rise, the game heating up with tension, the rhythm is smooth, and their voices alone are enough to seduce any woman without an effort. And their smiles.

Yo doesn't smile. The end of his lips quirking upwards, however. Into a smirk that he's fond of. Mu's smile is distant and pity altogether.

Won with his shifty smile, yawns once. He moves the coin, pushing the quill piece off from the soldier's path.

Tugging the corners of his mouth, is a smile that doesn't reach Wook's dark eyes. There's a lopsided grin on Jung's face, his eyes hardens at the sight of the bear piece tramples on the sword piece. Eun beams with an impish but fearless smile.

Baek-ah showers his brothers a condescending smile. But she supposes, the person emerging victorious is the owner of the shield piece.

As the game ends, their attention dissipates like fog clearing away. They turn to her. Baek-ah's the first to offer her breakfast, "We have milk, honey and cakes."

She opens her mouth to answer, a she-bear emerges behind the brothers. In its mouth, there's a wooden flute set in between sharp incisors. Her entire body freezes, only a finger trembling. Her throat's locked and the warning dies on her tongue.

"Woo-hee!" Baek-ah leaps to knock the bear's forehead. It drops the salivary-covered flute into his hand, "Eun, how many times have I remind you that Woo-hee's not meant to be handled that way?"

Eun rubs his face at the bear's fur, "Deok, plays flute like brother. Wants, she means harm not."

Only Mu takes notice of her petrified state, "The bear is harmless. Don't be afraid of it."

"H-how does a bear—never mind," she shakes her head. At the corner of her eyes, the fur beneath the bear's jaw is matted, with dried red blots.

* * *

She likes it here. Decorum of the palace's life does not touches her. Here, she's free to roam around. To play with the leaves. To stroll along without any weight on her shoulders. Here, she's just Su, the girl who lives freely.

Perhaps, the queen's death order has silver linings. She could always visit Lady Oh, under a new name. New disguise. Her life as Hae Su, she will not sorely miss.

The brothers—they left her to her own devices. She hasn't seen them since the game they played an hour ago. Even the bear—Deok, she reminds herself—is nowhere to be seen. And a large black bear is something one doesn't dismiss with ease.

Seeing the sun's yet to set in the west, it will be such a waste to stay indoors. She stands underneath the sun's ray. Her arms widespread open. Wind breeze blows into her face. Fragrance of late spring reminds her of her daily task to gather flowers. She peeps one eye open. Gazing up to the trees.

Autumn's upon them. It will be harder for any water maid to reap the flowers the queen favours. For the flowers lie deep within the forest. And one must be humble to the spirits of the forest to grant passage from dangers and difficulties. Only then the flowers will appear before you. Even if the autumn's skies are inching to winter's.

Of all things considered, she can't believe she's wallowing in nostalgia. Su shakes her head. Wills herself to release her hold onto those sentimentalities. The sound of boots trampling leaves disrupts her solitude and peace.

A scoff's being thrown at her. Su recognises that particular scoff. Not Yo's. But from the man who faked her death without her behest. She turns around to see him.

So folds his arms over his chest. Tilts his head at an uncomfortable angle. She thinks, she'd seen this somewhere. Somehow. Yet their meetings are far from plentiful and frequent.

"Will you stand before that tree until the sun sets?" So scornfully queries, underlying his words is curiosity.

"Why does it matter to you if I am to spend my time in front of this tree until sun down?"

"It doesn't," he replies quickly, "However, I had told Her Majesty that you ceased to be living. It would be foolish of you to walk around, flaunting your presence to anyone."

"We are in the forest where people's imagination are fickle and prone to superstitious in nature. A woman risen from the land of the dead, one could say one had seen a ghost," she refutes, with a smirk of her own.

There's silence. As he mulls over her answer. "True that may be the case. The forest does not depart its secrets to anyone who enters its realm," he says, "One could get lost."

"If you're around, I think a scream will have you hastening to my rescue," she reminds him. Su takes a deep breath and rushes through her words, "I would like to t-thank for your help."

And he smiles. Not a scoff. Not a smirk. Not a sneer. A genuine smile that lights his entire face up. With the evening glow cast its warm ray on his face, she finds him dreadfully beautiful. Dare she say, more magnificent than the seven brothers.

His lips utter not a single word, save for one. "Come," he says without a warning, and grabs her hand. Her stomach grows ill with his touch. His hands are surprisingly not-calloused on her wrist.

So brings her to a lake. The water so clear that she could see its bottom. Rocks and aquatic plants. Fishes, frogs and other aquatic life swimming. He slips out from his boots, sheds a few layers of his robe. And she notices, he's not in his armour. Just hanbok that nobleman deck himself outside off his soldier's duty.

He trudges into the water. Su remains standing by the lake's shore. He bends down and struggles to catch a creature. Despite the lake's pristine conditions, Su fails to spot the animal he's struggling with. He yanks the creature above his head. Water trickles on his head and body, wetting him. So barely takes note of it.

Her eyes travel to the creature on his hands. It's an eel. She thinks, it _is_ an eel. The eel is a bizarre sight. Its scales reflect the sun's light, showcasing seven colours all together. The colours of rainbow.

He brings the eel to her. "Touch it," he says. He doesn't demand.

And she does. Extends a finger to run across its body. Scales that is akin to a bird's feather.

"Try releasing this into the water," he hands her the eel, gently. It tries to wiggle away from her grasp and nearly succeeds, but So keeps the eel firm in his grip. She gets on her knees, lets the eel go. The eel slithers away. Its rainbow colour shifts, like a reflective mirror, and it blends into the clear lake. Invisible.

"That is amazing," she admits, her lips curling into a soft smile at him. The skies above are no longer the mixed colours of orange and peach—its colours are dark. "Time for us to leave, it's getting dark," she says, waits for him to get out from the lake.

He frowns, indignant. He puts on his robes once more. But not his boots. So walks away, and she chases after him.

There's that sense of familiarity again. Of this barefooted So. His gait is all wrong. So doesn't lurch. Or walk on the balls of his feet. And it disturbs her most, that is he marches, like a soldier. Not like a wolf unused to walking on its hind legs.

* * *

So follows her all the way to the seven brother's abode. Trails after her like a stubborn dog. He doesn't leave. She sees none of them. The brothers. There's venison in the kitchen, however. And other spices for her to cook a hearty meal.

"Don't bother with them," So quips from behind her, "they are feasting tonight with their respective companions."

She doesn't ask any further. It's not in her place to poke her nose where she doesn't belong. They didn't ask for her particulars. She shouldn't either.

"That means there'll be plenty food for you and me," she says instead. Grinning. She serves him a bowl of tonight's meal and waits him to take his first taste.

"Not bad," is all he says. And part of her is a little disappointed. His lack of reaction. She scoops a mouthful of rice, shoves it into her mouth. They eat in silence. Occasional glance at him, she catches him poking at the venison with a downturn of his lips. He knocks back the milk, as if he's consuming soju. And she finds it just a little strange.

This part, Su doesn't understand—one where a simple gesture he undertakes chafes her. A nuisance she can't shake. Before, when he charitably tosses smirks, sneers and mocks. Everything he does, stews her in unexplainable fury.

Staring at him across from the table, him grimacing at her meal—that tickles her. Her heartbeat quickens. Like a horse galloping across the paddy fields. She sets her gaze quickly down at her bowl. Feels his piercing gaze boring holes into her.

(She's torn. Between the overwhelming need to slap some sense to his brain. She's not his. Not his to do whatever he pleases with her; tease, play or mock. And—and the powerful carnal desire for him to ravish her in any way he wishes and sees fit to.)

She doesn't return her eyes back on him. Fans herself furiously to get rid of the blush around her neck. She shakes her head for a good measure. He doesn't lift his eyes from his bowl. Hae Su sighs, relief.

Once their meals are finished; though his is reduced, not thoroughly clean—she yawns several times. It's time for bed.

He accompanies her all the way to her little room. Keeps his distance between her and him. His boots are on his feet now. But his footsteps barely audible to her ears.

They're standing face to face. The top of her head barely touches his straight nose. His lips—she wonders if it will taste of milk he drank like a sailor of soju, or honey.

His chestnut eyes gazing down at her. Unreadable. Yet there are flashes of an emotion. Flickering so brief, buried deep within those lovely brown eyes. She thinks, she'd seen those eyes before. In a place her memory can't touch.

She ignores his fingers balling into a fist. That his fingernails are digging into his skin, drawing a little blood.

There's a sudden built up of courage within her. Tiptoeing, Su inclines her body against his and presses her lips on his. Feels his muscles tensing underneath her, then slackening.

He reciprocates her kiss. Short bouts of euphoric ecstasy sparks within her. And she forgets—about the seven brothers, about the queen, about the world around them. Fleeting is the sensation of having this kiss being repeated. Only she recalls the lingering smell of petrichor and metallic rust.

The kiss ends—when she stops for air. Nausea bubbling in her stomach. All her courage she has, melted way, and replacing it is mortification of her careless action. What if she kissed another woman's man—he's still the queen's guard. Oh, Buddha—help her.

She forces herself to look him in the eye. False bravado is all she has. Patiently embracing for his bid for them both to forget this kiss.

He doesn't say a word. Silence. His lips parts to a grin. If he wishes to mock her, his lips is firmly shut. There's a flicker of sadness in his brown eyes. Then it's gone. He's the first to turn away. They do not speak. He leaves her to be. This time, his footsteps echo—with a force.

Su closes the door behind her. Leaning against the door, she replays the kiss in her mind repeatedly. She thinks she'll sleep easily tonight.

* * *

Another Amaranth that refuses to change its colour. Fallen Amaranth flowers pooling around her feet. Like snow, they blanket the mossy ground. Only around the tree and her. Beyond her, it is only pitch black.

The wind rustles. No, the wind sings. With the voices of ten children. It echoes in the dark coast, calling for Hae Su. Beckons her to leave the Amaranths. And she walks. Unable to resist its siren song.

The children, hand in hand, run in circles. Gleeful laughter lingers in the air. Each echo, she can't tell if it is a giggle or a cry. Whatever it is, it reminds Su of a voice that stirs one to fear the unknown.

Closer she gets, her heart hammers against her rib-cage. Her legs quaking and strength rapidly dwindling like sand being drained down in a sandglass. They stop galloping in circles.

One by one, the children turn to set their eyeless faces at Hae Su. Their mouth curling into Cheshire grins simultaneously.

And she sees the ragged clothes hanging on their bony bodies. Swaying as they take a step towards her, in monkey-like movements. She can't outrun them. Vines creeping over her legs, locking her to the ground.

Tiny, dirty fingers grabbing her in areas a child shouldn't touch a lady at. Wake up, Su. Wake up.

* * *

She doesn't see the brothers. Not with So's around. And she doesn't mind a single bit. In fact, she could spend her endless hours with him.

Mornings witnessing the brothers embroiled in a game she doesn't understand becomes lacklustre—when their tongues are not speaking a language she comprehends.

She plucks a blue rose here, a red lily there. Fills her basket. A reminiscent of her daily tasks under the queen. It's a habit that refuses to die. And she thinks, she doesn't care. Gathering flowers allow her to have some peace of mind.

Keeps her busy on days that idleness will surely kill her slowly. Her lips twitching to a smile, for every glance she tosses over her shoulders. To see his sharp gaze never leaving her. The distance's the same as always—five steps behind.

A stroll in the forest opens to green valley, untouched yet by the fronds of autumn. Islands of steep hills scattered around them. Hills that stretches interminably. Purple streaking the skies with orange clouds.

Hae Su halts in her tracks. Takes in the view. Goryeo's mountainous, but the hills in front doesn't strike her as part of Goryeo. Or the Goryeo she grew up in, at least. Still, Su wants to run her fingers through her tall grass as she walks.

And she does. Her legs increasing her speed, he chases after her. Su lets out a peal of laughter. Intertwining her laughter is his, innocent and child-like. Together, they run. Together, they laugh. She comes to a stop, doubling over. Panting for air.

He grins, doesn't break a single sweat. In that fraction of a second, he looks younger than his age of ten and seventeen. And she thinks, she likes him best in this moment. When the sun shines on his face, highlighting his unworldly smile.

Not the severe and cold general he presents himself as, to the queen and to Goryeo's people.

With her basket's all filled, she sets it down. Taps her chin as she wonders what use the flowers have for her. She goes over the flowers she had, notices several laurel leaves. She plops herself on the ground, underneath a shady tree. Fashions a laurel wreath.

He goes to sit next to her, lying on his back. Silence seeps in between them. It's neither awkward nor unpleasant. Her hands continue to work on the wreath, when she pauses to look up at him. His eyes are shut. His face relaxes, and peace settles on his fair face. His ears, leaf-shaped, she realises now. She finds his ears' anomalous shape is just another additional to his growing charms she's begun to peel off one by one like layers of an onion.

When she's all done with the wreath, she places the wreath into her basket. Gathers to her feet. So follows suit. She turns to look at him, "Stop."

He freezes, unexpectedly. He arches a brow questioningly. She tips on the balls of her feet, setting the wreath above his head. He's about to open his mouth, she shoves a finger to his lips, shushing him quiet.

She sheepishly admits, "You're so pretty, I just want to remember this moment—" Su widens the smile on her face, "when our faces are lined with wrinkles and our visions fail us, I will have this minute to remind me of a blossoming youth."

His lips twisting into a small smile. His twinkling brown eyes loses its sparkle. He reaches out a hand to tuck a loose strand, but recoils his hand immediately. "Let's head back," he chimes, in his tone she thinks she hears a hint of sadness.

He is still part of the Queen's Elite Guards. It's not a secret she owns them. They are hers. Her Majesty belongs to no one, but herself. The King never had her heart, that's painfully clear to Goryeo.

* * *

Snakes. Snakes slither across her body, across her limbs. Their scaly bodies brush past her skin. The sensation of soft scales on her skin—breeds fear. Intense fear. It's like they're underneath her skin. She's frozen to her spot. She's unmoving. And a thought crosses her mind.

What if a snake, the size of two fingers, glides down past her calves? Slithers upwards to her thighs—inner thighs and—

This is not real, she tries to scream. But they're moving across her lower face. Over her mouth. Hissing as they move. She's paralysed. To the bed.

And there's a weight pressing against her. Heavier than the snakes. As the weight sinking down on her body, the snakes all hurriedly slinking away from her body. They will not come an inch closer to her. As if she's shielded by something her eyes cannot see.

Hot stale breath heats her face. Pressing invisible kisses on her collarbone. Sweaty handprint marks her skin, fondles her breast—no, no, no. This cannot be. She is just dreaming. This is just a nightmare. You're not being—

* * *

She wakes up, sweat clinging to her sok-ot. Her heart pounding, a rush of adrenaline draining into her veins. Hae Su reflexes her fingers. Then examines her sok-ot. No signs of tears on the fabric. Su pulls the skirt of her sok-ot up, eyes searching for the blue marks—fingerprints—imprinted on to her pale skin. None.

She exhales in relief. It was just a nightmare. She washes up, changes into a set of new clothes. Colourful hanbok lies waiting for her, inside a wooden trunk, lying at the foot of her bed. She makes her way into the hall, when her ears pick up a conversation taking place.

Su should walk away. But—it's not any of the seven brothers. This voice bears the hallmarks of the seven brothers' strange accent. It's also a woman's.

(Su's drawn by curiosity, to the discourse. It's formal between two speakers. A discussion built on what Su assumed, mutual respect and affection. And she creeps closer, in hopes to catch a glimpse of this mysterious speaker.)

The feminine voice speaks up, silvery, smooth and full of restrained resignation, "I have done all you asked of me. Even sought out the elders. And the archives. The answer remains as you've known."

Stillness misting into that room, then broken as the voice continues, "There exists no loophole," her tone firm, final as a hammer knocking on a nail.

So's voice is sharp, flames licking each word, "There has to be. We are masters of crafting loopholes when there is none."

"Not when it pertains our agreement among ourselves. Other races, it is wholly different plain," the voice refutes, soft and harsh in the same breath.

"I cannot accept this," So retorts, a mixture of anger and frustration leaking out from his tone.

A soft sigh, "I am well aware of that fact." A pause. "The hunt has begun and you are bound to it as your duty and birth—"

"Do not talk to me about my duty," snaps So, petulance and stubbornness shining in his fractured voice.

"She is different than the rest. I understand this perfectly, Gwangjong. Know this, this hunt is not—will not be any different than the hunt birthed long before Goguryeo learnt to stand on its youngling knees," she replies, sotto voce.

Gathering her courage, Su peeks her head out. Enough to make out two figures in the hall. So and a woman. She extends a manicured hand, briefly caressing his cheek. And they hold each other's gaze. The end of his lips curving into the melancholiest smile she'd seen on his face.

He breaks his gaze from her, shakes his head. A sigh escapes from his lips. "I pray you will not regret your decision," she whispers into So's ears, pecking his cheek lightly.

At the sight of him heading for the door, Hae Su squeezes herself into the alcove, out from So's sight. Only risks a peek to confirm her coast is clear—

"Ah, just the woman of the hour I seek. I don't believe we had the pleasure to be acquainted," a pair of chestnut eyes twinkling with curiosity meets Su's bug-eyed stare, "Me?"

"Yes, you. Are you not Hae Su?" she asks, her lips curling into a dimpled smile.

Su nods. "Yes, that is me."

"Come and have some breakfast with me," she says, pivoting on her heels and walks to the antechamber. Her feet jutting out from her skirt. Like the seven brothers, hers are missing shoes. Her long legs are ashen pale, and unblemished or scarred. She sways, swan-like grace across the hall.

"I am sorry if it is rude for me to say this, but who are you?" Su eyes the hanbok this woman adorns herself with. Deep rich violet that she swears seeing in the likes of Her Majesty's personal collection. "My Lady," Su quickly adds, seeing how she's part of a noble clan or royal family of a neighbouring country.

"I am known by many names, official and informal. But I am known to most as Daemok."

Su observes that like the seven brothers and So, Daemok acquired a bit of sweet tooth. A penchant of milk with honey and cakes that pushes Su's limit for all things sweet.

"Tell me about yourself, Su. It is quite rare to see a fresh face in this place," she waves a hand around the hall, with a perfect smile intact. Or rather a smiled practiced to perfection with time. Her honey eyes are young and weary—eyes that seen too much for a woman of ten and nine years.

Su obliges with a short summary of a cruel queen struck by bouts of insanity demanding her death. Daemok does not interrupt. Only nods once or twice. Sipping her honeyed milk. Her politeness, there's an edge to it, controlled and almost like a façade, a mask.

Su wonders exactly who the person, the real Daemok, is. Everything she presents, seems glib. Shallow. It's the same with Wook and his intellectual, bashful glances. Or Mu's reserved smile. Yo's aloofness hints there is more to him than just that smirk he wears. Won and his shifty gazes—always calculating. Baek-ah's addictive music that draw her to him, on a pied piper's tune. Jung's eyes is innocence mangled by lethality. Eun's in the world of his own, with the she-bear.

"I must cut our meeting short," Daemok divulges, "For I am required elsewhere, but before I take my leave, how are your nightmares?" she says, her voice splits to a sea of mixed emotions and her control is slipping.

"M-my nightmares?" Su splutters, eyes Daemok with suspicion. Nobody knows about her nightmares, not even So. Perhaps, it is nothing. A slip of the tongue.

Daemok nods, then shakes her head, "You'll have one last nightmare to endure," her lips quirking a smile, "I wish you the best of luck."

"T-thanks?"

Daemok glides towards the stairs, turns to gaze at Su and her eyes of thunderstorms flashing sympathy, "I am sorry for your loss."

* * *

The words "your loss" doesn't sit well with Su. The ambiguous tone used Daemok only breeds more questions of the life she left at the palace. Anxiety frayed at her fingernails, restlessness aids her chewing on her nails. The possibilities behind those two words eats away her mind, as she wonders if Lady Oh is fine.

Regret bleeds a little into her heart. Secret letters is a privilege that only will breaks the ruse So cooked up for her. For this second chance at life. All her news at the whims of So and the brothers.

"Lady Oh is alive and well," So says, a smile playing on his lips, "She suffers a minor cold. Nothing that the Royal Physician can't handle."

She breathes out a relieved sigh. Her fingers nimbly working to create a wreath of lilies.

"Where are they?" she says 'they', because she's not sure about So's relation to them. Five days since she first took the title as their 'guest', and not a blip of an interaction seen between either brothers with So.

His shoulders shake up and down, like ocean waves. He reassures, they're busy preparing for a traditional event for the sons of their father. He doesn't elaborate.

"Why do you keep making more wreaths?" So queries, doesn't spare her a glance. His eyes firmly close. Hands behind his head and his long legs stretches out reaching to the lake.

She shrugs. "Just because," she replies, putting finishing touches on the wreath of lilies, "I don't see why I can't make more. I think Jung would look more handsome in carnations."

He makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. Peeps one eye open at her, then rolls his eyes in child-like shine. She takes it as a protest of jealousy, and grins. Crowning his black hair is the wreath of laurel leaves, tainted with brown rusts and shrivelled up leaves.

So sits up, shoves his face near to her own. And his lips hovering over hers. Demanding (pleading seems to be the accurate word for the hunger in his eyes) for a kiss.

If one could be the ruler of a country on looks alone, they would never need to look further than the man ahead of her. She relents, and they kiss. It's always her who kisses first. At the slight brush of her lips against his, she'd forgotten about everything—a kiss is a kiss, her heart reminds her.

She abandons the unfinished wreath in her hands, wrapping her arms around his neck. Presses her entire weight down against his body. Her hand runs through his silky hair. His hands fly to her waist, steadying her. He flips her over, and she's lying flat on her back. His tongue sweeping over her teeth.

A feeling nags at the back of her mind, that once in a distant land, perhaps in a distant time of sorts, she wishes for more than just a kiss. That wish—itches and festers within a body no longer corporal. A body that died before her time. A candle snuffs out of its life before it could burn brightly.

It's when they stop for air, a new resolution carves out from carnal lust and pure ardour, takes root in Hae Su. That little voice in the back of her mind urges, _you only live once—he's yours for the taking, even for just one night._

And she mumbles, his earlobe in between her teeth, "Take me like you're the king of my body."

"As you wish, My Lady," he utters.

Hae Su smiles, victorious.

* * *

She sees everything. The wooden bed. The stained bedsheet. The flickering lamp at the far left corner of this room. She inhales a combination of musty, stale and pungent air. It stinks so badly that bile rising up through her stomach, threatening to send her gag reflex into a tumult.

But she doesn't toss her stomach's content on the floor. No, she sees everything. The control is not hers. She leans against the door frame, one crooked finger indolently motioning at a figure. The figure's faceless. Su knows it's a man. She just knows.

He takes several steps into the room. This figure of a man twists his non-existent lips into a shallow grin. He undresses himself. In front of her, he bares his sunken bones to her. Her hands travel to her sok-ot, slipping a layer of cloth off.

And another. Her movements are mechanical—this is her body, but it's not _her._ She can't stop. Herself from advancing at that faceless man. Herself from going down to her knees. Herself from continuing the act she refuses to see. She can't shut her eyes close either.

She thinks it has been minutes since the man puts his clothes back on and her body bids him goodbye. The hallway, littered with long lines of tree-like men all eagerly for their next turn.

This is just a dream. One final nightmare, she whispers, to herself. And the dreaming Su weeps.

* * *

"Do you trust me?" So asks, his slim fingers clasping around her tiny wrist. She mouths, "I do."

(There's it again. That sinking feeling she's a disaster in making. There's desperation to have him in her, there's terror of the unknown and there's repetition of patterns that will leave her in torn. Everything's a blur. All she knows—desperation wins.)

She's blindfolded, still her mind conjures his face perfectly. That his lips curving into a soft smile. His hand deftly takes her hair pin out. And her clothes. How he leaves a trail of kisses on her exposed body. It's him who leads her. In this fiery courtship of unbridled passion. Their fingers intertwined, and her heart beats harder. Louder than it drowns out everything around her. Her memory registers nothing, saved him.

His smell of earthly soil. His flames-sparking touches. His sweet-like-honey kisses. His firm body underneath hers. All things that embodies So.

She feels his sharp fingernails scrapping along her spine, and she fists his hair.

His cool skin kisses her warm ones, sending shiver down her spine. His lips leave marks on her collarbone. She likes to think she'd left a bruise here and there on his fair skin, marking him as hers. Even if it's just this one moment.

The blindfold over her eyes, falls off. She looks into his eyes, inhales his scent—she feels him coursing in her blood, her body shudders with excitement. His eyes are sharp, thirsting for her body, like a desert man who walked miles under scorching sun for a lick of water.

She moans his name, once. Or twice. Or three. Perhaps the number is close to six. Su lost count. Pleasuring shrill echoes in the silent forest, and they move—in which they melt into one cohesive entity, intent to ride the high of their hunger-focused kisses.

Su worships his body, this is the truth she is not willing to part to anyone. And she losses her mind and time to this perfect man. And misses him saying, "Forgive me for what I will commit to you."

When their coupling ends, she realises they've rolled themselves into the shallow part of the lake. She's wet then. She's wet now. Different circumstances, but she permits herself an amused giggle.

The sun's hidden, the moon's out to play. The stars glittering across the vast dark skies. The lake glows, luminously as though a thousand lamps lighting from under water. She washes her body off from the soil and sand, plucks the leaves out from her hair.

"So, where are my clothes?" Su questions, gets no reply. Spots white undergarment folded neatly on top of a rock. Slips into the undergarment without much thought. Indecency is something she wants to avoid, in the event of her accidentally run in to wandering travellers or the seven brothers.

"So?" Su calls out into the forest, eyes sweeping through her surroundings.

Horses whickering in the forested yonder. Drawing her to them. She closes the distance between her and the horses. Counts seven horses and a bear. They're not alone. Those horses. The bear. Only one horse is without its rider.

She quickens her pace towards their direction. Relief returning her heartbeat to its normal rhythm. Finally, familiar faces! A relief smile tugging the corners of her lips.

Su stops herself just before a whinny-like snort rips through the air. It's not the howl of a wolf—that Su knows. It doesn't stop her from having dread seeps into her skin, prickling the hair on her neck and hands.

Nearer now, she notes they do not wear their usual colourful robes. Rather colours that blend them seamlessly into the darkness. She narrows her eyes to get a better look. There are not robes. Hanging on their fit forms, are simple robes that she remembers the king wears before a hunt. Quivers strapped to their backs. _Boots._ They're wearing boots.

She calls out to them. Calling them each by their name. Even Yo. Not one gaze at her direction. As if their ears are deaf to her voice. And her voice alone. They turn to each other. Exchanging words in the language she heard too many times, still unable to understand.

Wook's lips splitting into a ravenous grin. Yo licks his lips, his snake-like eyes shining. Jung's boyish smile is feral-like. Won's smirk reminds her of a grinning fox. Eun's smile is just fearless, hungry—not a hint of his impishness. Baek-ah bites his under lip, and smiles patronisingly as ever. Mu's thin-lipped smile is reservedly wicked.

Their attention firmly set on the hill behind Su. One of the horses, dashes away from their lines. It passes Su, and bolts towards the hill. Su spins around. Curious. At whatever captures seven brothers' attention.

It's So.

But everything about him is _wrong._

His eyes—they're obsidian black, empty. His face vacant, as he gazes at them and her. A laurel wreath crowns his h-horns. Long, twisted horns protruding from his temples. He's dressed in the same garb with the brothers. A hunter's regalia.

He mounts on his horse—the only white horse—and releases that guttural snort, echoing in the forest. The brothers join him. And she sees it. Their ears all pointed like So's. They bow to him, to So. Subjects paying respect to the king.

Bluish-green flames flare and dance on the laurel wreath. Eerily highlighting the taciturnity on her lover's face. And she's not sure if the man with the laurel wreath _is_ her lover.

They all turn to her now. Drawing their weapons. Hounds, large and ferocious, nipping at their invisible leashes.

Everything about this instant screams familiar. She's shaking. Hae Su knows (she just does) a hunting when she sees one. There's none but her. She doesn't wait. Doesn't toss a glance over her shoulders.

Hae Su runs. Like the prey she is.

And the hunt begins.

* * *

The flurry beats of hooves against the leaves reverberates around her. They've found her. S-she needs to hide. A small ravine ahead, with a nearby waterfall loud to disguise her breath and scent. She dives into the ravine, rolling down and acquiring scrapes, cuts and bruises on her body.

The hounds' howling increases, as they're approaching her. Su's mistaken. There is no waterfall. No water to provide her a refuge. Just hollow logs—large enough for her—she crawls inside. Smearing the grime and muck against her exposed skin.

And prays to Buddha. Let her _live_. Please, let her live.

Su curls into a ball. Muscles tensing as she waits. She strains her ears to snare the tiniest echo. Boots crumple leaves. Their voices—musical as ever—and sinister as always, loom over her.

A centipede sneaks in her cleavage, she bites down her lips. A scream will do her no good. A scream will alert him of her presence. She laughs, internally. Bitterly. At the irony of what her scream means to him now.

"I can smell her," Yo hisses, in glee.

"Too Deok taste her," Eun chimes.

"I wonder where she could be," Baek-ah singsongs, "she can't be far."

"Brothers," Jung hums, "the sun's rising soon."

"We do not have time on our side," Mu states.

"We have to end this," Wook informs.

"It will be a shame to let her escape," Won sighs.

"Brothers," So bids, his voice flat and cold, "as father had before us, we pursue until the hunt ends."

She doesn't remember what happens after that. Stuck in the log for long periods, her breath hitches for fresh air. But fresh air is the thin line that separates her from the dead. And Su passes out when her energy wanes.

Ants jolts her from her exhaustion. She peeks outside through a small hole. The sun begins to break into the sky, morning arrives. At last, she sighs with relief. And Su sobs. Wrecks her chest when the sun hits her face. Tears smearing the dirt down her face.

Her nightmare's over. She's safe. She's s—

A voice screams into the air, "Brother, her I found!" A bear growls into the forest.

She's wrong. The hunt is far from over.

Hae Su gathers her torn hanbok in one hand. And she runs again.

* * *

The hems of her hanbok are torn and tattered. She hugs her legs together, barely moving. Every part of her body unclothed, unprotected by fabric, are lined by long, short, deep, superficial, straight and jagged gashes. She's all carved like a sculpture for someone's collection.

They did not leave their marks on her. Every scar she owns and wears are of her own making. All they did was to chase her until her legs failed her. The brothers—all eight—fade into oblivion at the second rising sun. But one can't be sure. They hunt. Day or night makes no difference.

She's not sure how many days has passed since she cloisters herself inside a rotting tree. Only her limbs can't stop trembling. Lips cracked and dry. She would do anything for a taste of water. Bare her body to anyone's wishes.

Su just wants water. Hunger doesn't bother her much. She should have save some water—any water will do, no matter if it comes from her. Or she could sit in here and just wait. Wait until the elements take her away from the land for living. That be nice. Su could use a long, long sleep.

And—

She's not alone.

 _Close your eyes_ , Su. _Close your eyes_ , be one with the trees. Don't move. Don't breath. Don't—

"I've found you," says a man, his voice is soft, tender like a father would use to a child. He extends a hand, "Do not be afraid," and tugging the corner of his lips is a smile. Not a smile that hides its intention.

"I am Ji-mong," he tries.

But she's been fooled by a smile before. She will not fall for that. Ever again.

He pulls out his cap, rubs the tip of his ears for her. "See my ears," Ji-mong confesses. He keeps his hand out, and his smile never falters. "I will not let anyone harm you."

These few days in the forest, has honed her skill to listen. To listen to all sounds and noises. To listen to the minor beat of all things living. Every single sound is the difference between life and death.

"I'm too late," he whispers to himself. She hears it too. The sincerity. And she takes his hand.

They ride on his horse. Once upon a time, she rode a horse with her lover. Or not. Everything seems like a dream. Those flower gathering. The abode on a tree. That night in the lake.

"The queen's waiting for you," he says.

"H-how did you find me?" Su manages to part her words. Low, quiet and broken.

"We sent a soldier. He escaped a series of misfortune," Ji-mong chuckles, incredulous and hollow, "From a stray arrow, bear attack, bandits, and to be done by a rusted shield that crushed his legs and arms. He returned to us months later, after much recuperation."

He forces himself to continue, "Took us sometime, soldiers after soldiers keep getting killed or injured before they could find you."

"H-how long?"

"Seven months, My Lady."

They ride back to the palace in silence.

* * *

Hae Su returns to the palace, when winter frost latching bare branches. Snow blankets over the ground. Ji-mong helps her down the horse, and takes his leave. The maids usher her to the bathhouse. Scrubs her body clean. They help her with her hanbok. They leave her alone in an empty chamber.

She sits still. Like a tree. Su keeps her ears peeled to any sounds. The fierce tapping of footsteps against floorboard echoes. The maid announces, "Her Majesty's arrived."

Su scrambles. Her legs are weak. She creeps on the floor, hides herself at the corner room. The queen—she wanted Su dead in the first place. She shuts her eyes. Her heart thrashing against her rib-cage. A lump forming in her throat. And she heaves short breathes. Not enough to keep anxiety from eating away her nerves.

The queen enters the chamber, "Leave us."

"Yes, Your Majesty," they echo. The maids obey her instruction.

(There's no point in screaming, Su. Nobody's going to save you. He's not here. He was never the person you thought he is.)

The queen, with white streak in her black hair, paces around the chambers. Her steps are heavy, laden with veiled burden. "They discarded the flower," the queen whispers to the room, "They admired the flower for a moment, discarded it and went on hunting another exotic thing. Leaving a trail of destruction behind them."

Her Majesty pauses in her steps, takes a seat on the bed instead. She cast her gaze at the windows, as if she's staring into a past she wants to forget. She continues, "But before they continued on their next hunt, they presented the flower to a king. The king fell in love with the Amaranth, it's different from the rest of the Amaranth."

(Su remembers dreaming of a black Amaranth with diamond flecks, in her hands. A singular flower among the white Amaranths. Its colour changed, the day after they chased her in the woods. After she lost her maidenhood to him. To the general named So—if he was ever a general. Or even human.)

"And so, he cherished it and made it queen. Never knowing its shame. The brothers rode into their kingdom of the unseen, laughing hysterically."

Su stutters, "W-what?"

"The ending," she quietly says, "That's the ending to the tale of the Amaranth flower and the eight brothers." The queen releases a chuckle, hollow. She's on her knees, sitting next to Su. The queen looks so young, when the sun shines on her—Su doesn't believe this is the same woman who ordered her death. She strokes Su's cheek, her fingers twirling a loose strand of white hair. Su's hair. Their raven hair with white streaks. Reminds her so much of the Amaranth.

"Why us?" Su finally asks, "Why did they do this?" And she mutters to herself, "Who are they?"

(The last question, she knows the answer to. It's obvious, isn't it? They were never human. Whatever their intentions, Su will never know.)

The queen shakes her head, bright red lips curving into a sad smile, "There are many stories passed down from one mother to her child. On the reasons behind it all, it changes year from year. Some said, they wanted a piece of our soul, that's why our hair turned white. Others, to mark incoming disaster. Remained the same, is the fact after these hunts, calamity will follow. The year I received this, the nation I came from, crumbled and lost to Goryeo."

"I tried to stop it. The moment you turned ten and six, I tried to make sure your beauty will not be noticed," she confesses, "I didn't realise that So was part of them. He chose you, my child. It was him who wrote the letter. Him who lead you to his brothers. I am sorry."

"What now, Your Majesty?" says Su, looking at the queen with fresh eyes and a heart that understands the woman who hides herself behind cruelty.

"I will need your help. My methods didn't work. They got you. I will not let our fates becomes another innocent girl's. What is your answer, Su?"

"Whatever it takes, Your Majesty," replies Su, straightening her spine and her voice firm with undeniable certainty, "I will do anything I can."

So and his brothers will not claim another victim, with their false smiles. Hae Su will not allow it. She'll warn them of a man too perfect that his love is a lie. Even if Hae Su spends her life, wandering if his love for her is ever real.

* * *

Fin.


End file.
